by Rosie Vanyon
It didn’t faze her that Shay was less than thrilled about the news. It didn’t matter to her that Mia was openly horrified. All that counted was the precious little life growing inside her. From the instant the tiny being had made her presence known, Cara had loved her with every dollop of her overflowing heart.
So, the miscarriage was soul destroying. She’d been choosing booties when she experienced the first cramp, felt the warm, sticky discharge. She’d known immediately, of course, and had ridden the six blocks to the emergency room. The procedure had been swift and clinical. She’d lied and said her husband was waiting outside, so they’d let her leave. She’d sat in the ladies room until the world stopped spinning and she could be reasonably sure she wouldn’t throw up in her helmet. Then she climbed on her red dragon and rode.
She didn’t care about the wooziness, didn’t care that she was soaked to the skin, didn’t care that she was shivering so hard she could barely steer. Cara didn’t even know where she was or where she was going. Her baby was gone. Dead. Lost before she could even greet her. Loved but never to breathe. The devastation inside Cara was absolute. A swivel of her hips, she thought, the most minuscule tilt and swerve and, at this speed, she could guide her dragon straight into a nice big tree and be free of the terrible pain and loss forever.
In that dreadful moment, she realized that she was missing something so much bigger than even a fortune and a fetus. She was missing her mother’s raison d’etre––reason for being. Because if Alessandra had felt for Cara and Mia even a fraction of what Cara had felt for the little life she had just expelled from her body, there was no way she could have walked away. Put simply, no treasure on earth could be more compelling than a mother’s love for her child. Could it?
Sure that she was overlooking some enormous aspect of her mother’s life, Cara vowed to begin her own treasure hunt. Never mind the missing fortune, she would find the truth of her mother’s soul and she would put all the questions to rest, once and for all. But where to begin?
The urge to put words on paper floated to the surface of her mind and began to take hold like a delicate water plant coming into being. The words were clunky at first, the ideas clumsy and ragged with no sense of flow or direction. Little by little as the months passed, her work began to converge, and soon she was flying through notebook pages like a fiend, scouring journals and newspaper clippings, interviewing strangers. She worked late into each night, transposing her thoughts onto her computer, shaping them, sculpting them, putting together plans and dialogue and a killer pitch.
“I wrote the truth as I found it,” Cara told Levi. As bitter as it turned out to be. “I tried to be impartial, impersonal. I wanted to be as accurate and objective as I could possibly be. In doing so, I hoped that the truth would shine through. So far, there’s a glimmer, but I know that during the filming so much more can emerge. Right now, it’s words on paper. It’s not until those words come to life on the set that they really come into their own. And often, it’s not until you’re sitting in a dark theatre, holding hands and eating popcorn, that you really understand what you’ve created. And what it all means.”
****
While she talked, Levi realized three things—she was utterly and unwaveringly committed to presenting the truth, and that could be a problem. She was withholding some important part of her story and he itched to know what she was hiding. And she was so incredibly beautiful in her passion and integrity that he was in dire danger of falling for her.
Chapter Seven
“You want to do what?” Cara cried.
“Hey, settle down. I’m not the enemy here. We just need to tweak the script a little...”
He was back at his desk and she was on her feet pacing the hearth rug. Furious.
“A little? You’re talking about adding characters that never existed, creating motivations that weren’t there!” She knew she was being unreasonable, but she couldn’t seem to calm herself. “You’re talking about changing the key focus of the main character.” Cara couldn’t believe that after she just poured half her heart out to Levi about the importance of the truth, he was ripping the other half right out of her chest by turning her work into some cheap little romance.
“Cara, we’re talking a minor love interest, that’s all.”
“There was no love interest. Haven’t you listened to a thing I’ve said? She flirted, she dillied, she dallied, and she never slept with anyone. The tabloids often put two and two together and came up with about eleventy billion, but she was like a freaking nun!”
“Look, I understand that this is painful for you, but this film is not a documentary. It’s a feature. A big, expensive feature and, as it stands, it’s just not quite compelling enough to engage—”
Cara could feel the heat in her cheeks, feel her eyes burning. Her breath was choppy and her pulse was erratic. “So, it’s all about the money and the box office, is it? I thought you were different. I thought you gave a shit. But when it comes down to it, when we get to the bottom line, principles and art and integrity go out the window, so dollars can come marching through the door.”
She hated the whine in her voice, hated how precious she sounded, hated the prima donna tone threading its way through her protests. But she was afraid—frightened he would undo two years of healing, terrified he would sully the legitimacy of the film.
“Cara, listen to me... I’m a producer. Of course I want to see the film be a commercial success. Naturally, I’m looking for a return on my investment. But not at the expense of the film’s veracity.”
“Bullshit. You want love scenes. Nudity. Sensationalism. You want to tip the balance so that my mother ends up looking like a greedy slut. You have no interest in the facts. You only care about the money. Sex sells. Isn’t that what they say?”
“Jeez, Cara, I hardly think taking a lover turns Alessandra into a slut. It makes no sense that she would go thirteen years without a man—not without some driving reason. Having her celibate for the whole film without some first-class incentive is going to alienate audiences. A love interest humanizes her. You yourself said there was a lot you still didn’t know about her. How can you know she was chaste the whole time? It makes more sense to give her a man. We can do it tastefully.”
“There is just no way you can have her fuck some bloke without her looking cheap. It’s tacky. It’s tawdry. It’s exactly what Mia was afraid of.”
“It doesn’t have to be tacky. What about us—you and me—last night? This morning? That was hardly tacky. That was beautiful.”
“How do I know you weren’t just screwing me to soften me up for this conversation?” she spat.
“I can’t believe you just said that. Can you really devalue what we shared that way?”
“There’s nothing to devalue. It was just a stupid mistake.” She was shouting now. “And you can’t make major changes without my consent. It’s in my contract.” Stung and battered, she ran from the room.
****
Levi swiped a hand over his face, rubbed his eyes, and leaned back in the ergonomic chair with an unhappy sigh. He’d sure as shit screwed that up, he thought. Cara was right. He couldn’t make major changes to the script without her consent. But was adding a love interest a major change? Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to drag through the courts finding out. He was on a deadline that had nothing to do with production costs.
Cara’s script was the best thing that had ever crossed his desk. It was as close as anyone could get to a sure bet when it came to the box office. But it needed to be zsuzsed up to ensure success—more action, more violence—and more sex.
He thumped his fist down on the script. Cara was dead right when she said his priority was the money. In fact, until he had actually met the beautiful and tempestuous writer, the money was all he had been focused on.
Maybe if she had stopped shouting for long enough to hear his point of view, they could have worked something out. But that would mean actually sharing his perspective, he realiz
ed. It would mean clawing open the past and hauling out all the pain and guilt and wretchedness. It would mean trawling through his whole miserable history, parading the shambles of his life in front of Cara, and emasculating himself in the process.
He ran a hand roughly through his hair.
Hell, if that’s what it took, that’s what he would do. This movie needed to happen. It needed to happen his way. And it needed to happen now.
****
The smell of baking bread finally lured her to the back kitchen. It seemed Levi was quite the cook.
“Just because we disagree about the movie, it doesn’t mean we can’t eat together,” he told her evenly, indicating the two places set at the table. “Please. Sit. Red or white?”
Tentatively, she took a seat, admiring the way he’d laid the table. He’d dredged up a crisp white linen cloth and clearly troubled himself to iron it. He’d found some pink candles and blown glass candle holders. Even with mismatched silverware and shonky vinyl chairs, the setting was delightful. There were fresh flowers floating in a crystal bowl as a centerpiece.
“You’ve gone to so much trouble...”
“Cooking always soothes my soul. Some men race cars, others play golf. Call me a metrosexual, but I bake. I hope you like lamb.”
“I love lamb.”
“The cab sav will probably set off the meal the best, but there’s a pinot gris chilling if you’d prefer.”
“The red is fine.”
The ritual of dining played out so easily that the customs of good manners and the traditions of eating together were somehow spinning a delicate truce between them. She noticed the music—something dreamy and classical from the ancient transistor on the window sill. And the rich aroma of herbs and meat when he opened the oven infused the whole space with a warmth and hominess that transported her, for a moment, back to the safety and security of childhood.
There was something seductively easeful about Levi, she thought, and immediately forced herself to sit straighter in her chair and raise her guard. The coziness and care he emanated were beguiling and she would do well to resist the charm of the comfortable ambiance he’d created and the soulful eyes promising serenity and security—and veiling a mercenary heart, she reminded herself.
But it was difficult to think clearly with all her senses indulged. The lamb was melt-in-her-mouth tender, served with baby vegetables and aromatic herb bread he had baked from scratch. He was right about the wine—it complemented the lavish gravy perfectly. And to top it all off, he’d concocted a fresh pear tart, almost too beautiful to eat, and he served the dessert with a splash of bitter chocolate sauce.
Most potent and bewitching of all was the compelling company of Levi Callister.
“You must have been really stressed to need that much soothing.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair and patting her overstuffed tummy. “That was divine. You should run a restaurant.”
“I did for a while. I’ve also owned a radio station, raced horses, dabbled in pharmaceuticals—the legal kind—set up a shipping firm, and tried stockbroking...among other things.”
“Wow. And all I’ve done is write movies.”
“I envy you that passion and certainty,” he confessed. “I am always looking to the next thing—the next trend, the next project…”
The next lover, Cara thought, reflecting on his reputation in the tabloids as a ladies’ man.
“Before I’ve even wound up the current big thing, I’m already peeking ahead to see what’s next. It’s as though nothing quite satisfies me. Some things get close, but nothing totally fills the hole. Like I’m hungry for some sort of fulfilment I can never get.”
“That sounds really sad.” Her mind flicked over the emptiness of her own maverick life where making films was the only real substance and wondered if he wasn’t better off than she was. At least he had a base—property, a business, a loving normal family.
He shrugged. “I guess I’m just waiting for something to light me up the way writing lights you up. Something worthy of my passion. Something that will hold my attention for longer than a year or two.”
“Do you believe that something is out there?”
“I have to believe it. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
For a moment, he was quiet, smiling inwardly as though remembering some happier time or wistfully projecting a happier future. He looked stunning, she thought. Like every male fantasy she’d ever had rolled into one gorgeous, sensuous man. She wanted him despite everything. She craved the touch and taste of him, longed to feel his skin scorched against hers, ached for the pleasures his sumptuous mouth promised. Would she really risk the integrity of her film for another night with Levi? Would she really throw caution to the wind and chance everything on this devilishly sexy man? She swallowed thickly and tried to drag her eyes away from his contemplative form.
Then the radio crackled and the lights flickered and he came back to her.
“I gave Brian Shepherd a call this afternoon,” Levi said, changing the subject and interrupting the tension building inside her. “The road’s totally impassable. He offered to come over by launch and make sure we’re okay. The forecast is for the rain to ease overnight, though, so I told him we’d be okay…marooned…together…alone…” He waggled his eyebrows in mock suggestion and she rolled her eyes, her heart frisking.
“Just because I agreed to eat with you doesn’t mean I want to do anything else with you,” she said. But what had been intended as a sarcastic snap sounded throaty and wistful. She averted her eyes so he wouldn’t see the flicker of desire.
“I reckon the water level will have dropped enough tomorrow that we won’t be stranded here any longer. Selena and Otto, plus the set crew, are holed up in Ocean Ridge waiting for the weather to abate. Once the road is clear, they’ll come over the isthmus. I’m guessing it’s our last night on our own.”
He tried to keep his tone light, struggled to keep the longing out of his voice, but she heard his desire and there was no denying the answering yearning in herself. Despite their differences, she wanted him. With the internal admission, her breath caught, her heartbeat kicked up a notch, her breasts tingled, and her sex flushed with warmth.
No! her inner voice objected. He was the enemy. He was trying to ruin her film for the sake of a few bucks. It was like dealing with Alessandra all over again, but with sexual desire thrown in as an extra complication. The attraction she felt was nothing but animal lust, primal chemistry. She was a civilized, intelligent woman. She could override these base urges. She could!
Gently, he reached across the table and lifted her fingers in his. The touch was like a hundred and twenty volts applied directly to her libido. Her skin hummed, her cheeks burned, and her body purred with wanting him.
Her eyes met his, wondering what lay behind the dancing candle flames reflected there.
“Dance with me?” His request was a soft plea and, before she could stop herself, she nodded her acquiescence. It was just a dance, she told herself.
He stood, keeping hold of her hand, and drew her to her feet. The music was something smooth and orchestral, and he when he pulled her against him, he was already moving to the sensuous rhythm.
“I know we have our differences about the film right now,” he said softly. “But I really like you, Cara. And I like the way you fit against me.”
His words brought her awareness to all the places they touched. Palms, chests, hips, thighs... Her skin was alive with the feel of him brushing against her. Her muscles delighted in their tandem sway and swirl.
“I like you, too, Levi,” she husked.
The song segued in to something slower, more longing, and she found her eyes drifting closed, her head nestling against his shoulder, nose pressing into the scent of him. She felt the rasp of his unshaven cheek against her own tender flesh, the firm press of his hand in the small of her back, and his swelling arousal at her groin.
His fingers gentled her chin and nudged her face toward his own
.
“I want to kiss you,” he told her. His eyes were all smoldering desire, his voice a wayward assurance.
“We probably need to talk before there’s any kissing,” she ventured, trying to be rational despite the delicious feel of his hands now rubbing suggestively and rhythmically over her hips. She turned in his arms and drew away from him, hoping a little distance would bring her to her senses.
His hands around her wrists were sudden and vise-like, and he pulled her back to him firmly but gently. Her shoulder blades met his breastbone, her derriere pushed against his crotch. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tighter still against his hard, hot body, threading kisses along the back of her neck and licking the sensitive skin behind her ear.
Cara shivered, knowing she should object, protest, struggle, or even scream the freaking house down. But, if she were truthful, his demanding masculinity actually turned her on. He was letting her know with his body how badly he wanted her. She was a hundred percent certain that if she genuinely wanted out, he would respect her wishes.
Right now, drawn hard against the commanding sinewy animal that was Levi, escape wasn’t even on the agenda—all her wishes were scaldingly carnal.
Their breath had synchronized into a grating, ravenous rhythm. She could feel his powerful heartbeat reverberating through her own body, a counterpoint to her own racing pulse. His mouth was moist fire against her fevered skin. Their pheromones were almost tangible, like invisible ropes of scent and sex, binding them ever more tightly to one another.
“Or,” he murmured as he nuzzled her ear, “we could do some kissing first and deal with the conversation later.”
Boldly, as though punctuating his suggestion, he slid his hands up her rib cage and settled them on her breasts, toying methodically with her nipples through the thin fabric of her bra, practically daring her to resist. Her traitorous buds peaked instantly under his erotic ministrations. She felt his satisfied exhalation against her nape, couldn’t miss the throb and surge of his manhood against her rear as her breasts grew heavy and swollen, and her nipples stiffened further and strained toward his touch.